Читать книгу Mystic and Blaze - Stacy Gregg - Страница 10

The pony-club paddocks were deserted when Issie arrived, except for the horses dotted about the field, grazing in the morning sun. Avery was nowhere to be seen, so Issie climbed over the fence and unlocked the tack room.

Standing in the tack room, she felt a rush of emotion as she looked at the hook and saddle horse where she had kept Mystic’s things. His leather halter and canvas paddock cover were still hanging there, but the saddle horse was bare. When Mystic had gone under the truck, her beloved Stubben saddle had been destroyed too. Not that it mattered, Issie reminded herself. She didn’t need a saddle because she wasn’t going to ride ever again.

As a further reminder of her vow, up there on the wall next to the empty saddle rack was a photograph. It was her and Mystic; taken the day that she had first brought the dapple-grey here to his new home. It must have been the end of winter, because Mystic’s coat was thick and fluffy with winter growth. His mane was long and flowing; it obviously hadn’t been pulled in months. His eyes were dark and steady, staring straight at the camera. And there she was with him, the wind whipping her long dark hair across her face so that her eyes were barely visible. She had one hand on Mystic’s wither and the other holding his lead rope. They made the perfect team.

“There you are!” Avery’s voice behind her made her jump. “Come on out for a moment, I’ve got something to show you. Oh, and bring that halter. You’re going to need it.”

Issie emerged into the sunlight to see Avery’s horse truck parked outside the gate. He climbed back into the cab again and gestured for her to swing the gate open to let him drive through.

As Issie closed the gate behind him, she watched Avery ease the vehicle alongside the loading ramp. When he pulled the truck to a stop, she could hear the uncertain shift of hooves against the matting floor. There was a horse in there! Of course! Why else would Avery tell her to bring a halter with her. But which horse? She looked out across the paddock to see Toby and Coco both grazing peacefully at the far end of the field. It wasn’t them on the truck then, but…The stamp of hooves became more restless and the high-pitched nicker of a horse could clearly be heard from inside the truck.

Avery leapt down from the driver’s seat and strode over to her. “Good, good,” he said. “All set then? Let’s go!” He began to unbolt the doors. “Issie you go in and put her halter on. We’ll put her in the pen by the tack room for the time being.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Issie didn’t understand.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry.” Avery smiled. “It’s a horse, Issie. And I want you to have her.” He held up his hand to stop her cries of protest. “Look, I didn’t mean to spring it on you like this. I understand how much it hurt you to lose Mystic. And maybe it is a little soon to expect you to get back into the saddle again. But I had no choice. You know about my work with the International League for the Protection of Horses, don’t you?”

Issie nodded.

“It’s my job to investigate reports of horses that are being mistreated or badly looked after by their owners. And if those horses are being neglected, then it’s also my job to take them away and find new homes for them. People can be unbelievably cruel,” Avery continued, shaking his head, unable to disguise the disgust in his voice. “Can you even imagine, Issie? No grass to eat, just dirt to live on. A paddock no bigger than a cattle pen. When the horse protection league found this mare, she was…well, you’ll see for yourself in just a moment what sort of a state she is in.

“Issie, I know it’s not fair to ask this from you. This mare is in a delicate condition. She’s very sick, one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen.” Avery’s face was grim. “She needs round the clock care from someone who really understands horses if she’s going to pull through. Even then she may not survive…And I know you’re still hurting from losing Mystic. But when I saw her I knew that you were the one to take care of her. To love her. Because she’ll need someone like you, someone who truly loves horses, who has a way with them, to bring her back to life.”

A faint, nervous whinny came from behind the door. “Now, come on,” Avery looked at her intently, “what do you say?”

Issie knew that there was nothing she could say. She just nodded to Tom, and stepped to the side so that he could open the door and let her in.

In her worst nightmares, Issie had never seen anything like the sight that was now before her. In the centre stall of the truck stood a chestnut mare. At least Issie supposed she was a chestnut. The pony’s coat was so covered in mud, and worn thin in great patches, that you could hardly tell what colour she was at all. From beneath the caked mud, her ribs stuck out sharply through her skin. Her rump, rather than being rounded and firm, was hollowed out where the muscles should have been. And the pony’s legs were covered in mud sores. But it was the pony’s expression which upset Issie most of all. The little mare wouldn’t even raise her head to look at Issie, and when she finally did look her way, her eyes showed pure terror. As Issie got closer the mare let out a long, low snort of fear. But she didn’t attempt to back away. It was as if her spirit was so broken she didn’t care what happened to her any more.

“Easy now, girl,” Issie cooed as she put the halter on. The chestnut mare flinched away from her hands as Issie fastened the halter buckle, but she was too weak to put up much of a fight. “Easy now,” she murmured again, stroking the length of the mare’s slender neck. Underneath the dry mud on her legs Issie could make out four white socks, and down the mare’s dainty face ran a white blaze.

“What’s her name?” Issie asked Avery as she tried to cluck the mare into moving forward and out of the truck stall.

“Doesn’t have one, I’m afraid,” Avery said. “At least, we don’t think she has a name. We never did track down the people who did this to her. We’re trying to trace the owners so that animal cruelty charges can be laid against them, but it’s not easy. So…no owners and no name.”

“I think we should call you Blaze,” Issie whispered to the mare, “after that pretty white blaze that’s running down the middle of your face.”

“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” Avery smirked, “you can’t just go ahead and name this horse.” He paused. “Unless, that is, unless you’re willing to keep her?”

“Oh, Tom,” Issie sighed, “of course I’ll keep her. Like you said, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You understand the rules of the ILPH, don’t you?” Avery asked. “If a horse comes into our care we can appoint a guardian for that horse. But that’s all you will ever be to Blaze – her guardian. You don’t own her, so she’s not yours to sell. If you ever change your mind about her or can’t look after her you must return her to the League and they’ll find a new home for her.”

Issie nodded, then turned to the chestnut mare. “Do you hear that, girl? I’m your new guardian. And I’m going to take real good care of you. Come on now, come out and see your new home.”

Issie led Blaze down the truck ramp and her heart nearly broke as she watched the little mare, all wobbly on her feet, gingerly putting one hoof in front of another.

She tied the chestnut to a fence rail. It had been hard to really examine her in the truck. Now, in the bright sunlight, she stood back and took a long hard look. She was definitely a pony, not a horse; Issie guessed she stood somewhere between fourteen and fourteen-two hands high. And there was no doubt that she was well bred. Even in such pitiful condition the mare showed signs of her Arab bloodlines. The classic dished nose and finely pricked ears gave her away. As did her legs, slender and delicate like a ballet dancer’s.

In the sunlight the mare’s coat was darker than Issie had first thought, a deep liver chestnut. Her mane and tail were a light shade of honey, almost flaxen blonde. Looking down at her legs, Issie could see that she did indeed have four white socks. In fact, the two hind socks were almost stockings – running all the way right up to her hocks, while the white blaze which began as a large star on her forehead continued in a slender streak all the way down her face to her velvety nostrils where it finally tapered away.

“She’s beautiful, Tom,” Issie breathed softly.

“We’ll have to keep her in the pen for a couple of days or so, I’m afraid,” Avery said briskly. “She’s too weak to be let loose to graze with the other horses at this stage. If they took to her she’d never survive the fight. I’ll try and sort out the grazing so she can have a paddock to herself in a day or two and in the meantime you’ll have to start bulking her up on hard feed and hay.”

Avery looked concerned. “We’re talking about more than a physical problem with this mare though, Issie. It’s her mind that needs the most care. She’s been through a lot. Whoever owned her must have abused her terribly. She doesn’t know how to trust people any more. And it’s going to take a lot of work and patience to win back that trust.

“Might as well get to work on the physical stuff straight away though, eh?” Avery pointed to Issie’s grooming kit and gave her a knowing grin. “I’ll bet there’s a decent coat under all that mud, so get to it! I’ve got to dash. You need to spend some time, to know her better. And,” Avery added, “of course you’ll need to talk to your mum about things too – but I’m sure she’ll be fine about it, won’t she?”

Issie was about to respond to this and point out that, actually, her mum wouldn’t be fine about it at all. But Avery wasn’t listening.

“Excellent then! Right. I’m off. I’ll check up on you both next week.”

And with that, Avery backed the truck out of the gate and left Issie standing there open-mouthed.

Issie stood there for a moment longer, watching the truck as it became smaller in the distance. Then she turned back to the horse and reached for her bucket of grooming brushes. As she lifted the dandy brush towards Blaze to scuff off the dried mud, the pony let out a terrified snort and pulled back hard against the rope, her eyes wild with fear.

“Easy, girl, I’m not going to hurt you,” Issie murmured. She put the brush down and reached her hand up to stroke Blaze’s neck and calm her down. But the mare wasn’t having any of it. She backed up, straining against the rope, her ears flat back against her head.

Issie felt terrible. She knew Blaze wasn’t acting up on purpose. It was simply that the poor horse had been so badly abused in the past she was scared of being touched. Issie realised it was only natural that Blaze would be scared of her too, but it still hurt.

Once more she moved slowly towards the horse, and Blaze backed even further away, letting out a low, long snort of terror.

“Blaze! How can I brush you if you won’t even let me get near you?” Issie pleaded, close to despair. Then she had an idea. In the tack room there were three large bins of hard feed for the horses, the first two filled with oats and chaff and the third with pony pellets. Issie grabbed a handful of these and walked back over to Blaze.

This time the nervous chestnut didn’t back away. She sniffed the air, then stretched out her long, elegant neck as far as she could without actually stepping forward. Food. She could smell it all right. But was she brave enough to take it? Still not moving a single hoof, the mare craned her neck even further, then used her rubbery lips to stretch out and snuffle up the pellets out of Issie’s hand.

“Good girl, Blaze,” Issie murmured, reaching her hand out once more to stroke the horse. Blaze let Issie’s fingertips graze against her mud-coated neck before she backed up once again, heaving with fear.

“Easy, girl, it’s OK,” Issie said, backing away herself, admitting defeat. She went back to the tack room a second time, but when she emerged again she wasn’t carrying a handful of pellets, but a slice of hay. Stuffing the hay into the hay net in the far corner of the pen, she managed to get close enough to Blaze to unclasp the lead rope from her halter so that she was free to go and feed.

“I think we’ve done enough for one day, hey, girl?” Issie spoke gently to the mare. But inside she wasn’t feeling so great about her first meeting with her new horse. How was she expected to feel when Blaze wouldn’t even let her pat her?

She stood and watched as the mare nervously ate her hay. One thing was certain: this wasn’t going to be easy.